Snarking Is Good For The Soul
by Raven Calling
Summary: Five Times McCoy snapped at Chapel, and one time she snapped at him.
1. Chapter 1: The time during moving in

**Title:** Snarking Is Good For The Soul

**Author:** Ravencalling

**Rating: **T (for swearing in two languages)

**Chapter Word Count: **1,312

**Fandom: **Star Trek 2009

**Characters/Pairings: **Christine Chapel, Leonard McCoy

**Summary:** Five Times McCoy snapped at Chapel, and one time she snapped at him.

**Disclaimer:** Star Trek does not belong to me, no matter what I wish. It's the lovely invention of Roddenberry, I'm just taking it out for a test drive, so to speak.

**The time during moving in**

Christine grunted as she rounded a corner and yet another flight of stairs appeared. Shifting the heavy box in her arms she cursed whatever Gods, all powerful aliens, or sentient inanimate object had made the elevator mysteriously break down on the day she decided to move into her new Starfleet assigned quarters. The only bright side about living on the twelfth floor of the Archer accommodation block was that it was bound to have a good view at that height.

"Finally!" She huffed as she reached her floor, scanning the dull brown doors for number 1208. "Ah ha!" Dumping the over sized box on the floor, she withdrew the padd from her pocket she had been given upon arrival at Starfleet Academy. "Seven...zero...eight...four...two...nine..." The green light next to the key pad lit up and a faint click could be heard.

Picking up the box once more, Christine entered her new room for the first time. Looking around she was pleased with the double bed, big desk and small yet neat private bathroom. However the view was certainly lacking. Far from the view overlooking the grassy courtyard, she was on the other side of the building and had a magnificent view of a similar concrete and glass building. "Charming. At least I don't have to share a shower. Being old has its perks." Having already got a doctorate in biochemistry and being 24 years old meant that she'd be older and more qualified than most of the classmates, which had initially sounded like a drag. College in Paris had been lively, that was certain, but now she was older and wiser and more prone to getting hangovers, Christine wasn't sure she'd be up for dancing all night then going to lectures on next to no sleep. She'd been grateful when the enrolment officer had informed her that she was eligible for her own room, away from the noise of the over excitable younger recruits.

Leaving the box on the desk, she hurried out of her room, and down all twelve flights of stairs to fetch the rest of her stuff. Well, if it wasn't a darn sight quicker going down the blighters than it had been going up them.

Three heavily laden trips later, and Christine was on the last run up. "Just a few more floors and then I can have a nice long hot shower," she muttered under her breath, trying to blow an escapes strand of blonde hair out of her face. In fact, so distracted was she with the thought of cleaning away the dust of travelling and the sheen of sweat coating her body accumulated after climbing over fifty flights of stairs heavily laden that she failed to notice that the taping that crudely held together the bottom of the box was snapping. As the tape gave way, the bottom flaps gave up the ghost, and socks, photographs, Padds, hair grips, and her great aunt's antique wind up clock scattered themselves thoroughly across the landing.

"_Merde_!" Christine surveyed the damage with a feeling of hopelessness rapidly rising up in her chest. It had taken her ages to get them all to fit in neatly in the container, and now they were strewn left right and centre across the hallway of Starfleet. "Bloody buggering _conneries_!" She collapsed to her knees, wincing slightly as they made violent contact with the sharp edge of a data disk, and began the arduous task of gathering her belongings.

The sound of heavy footsteps behind her made her look up and see a large shadow turning the corner of the stairs below her. It also made her aware of an escaped book, an actual paper book of _Gone with the Wind_ her _grandmere_ had given to her on her graduation from high school, loitering precariously in the middle of a step, right where the person ascending would step on it. Dropping the assortment of belongings she had gathered into the box, she turned around to fetch the book, only to see that the figure had ascended at a quicker rate than anticipated and had already reached the section of stairs affected by her mishap. Unable to grab the book without having her hands thoroughly trodden on, she called out, "Hold on a sec."

From behind a large pile of cases a muffled "What?" could be heard just as a large foot came down on the book. Christine winced, although whether it was due to the treatment of her precious book, or for the accident that would surely occur.

Sure enough, the book's shiny cover acted perfectly to overcome friction and the man's balance went caput. With legs going one way and momentum propelling his body forward into the beige wall, the cases stood no chance, falling left right and centre down the stairs.

"What is the name of sweet Jesus?" A gruff voice swore from where its owner had come to rest against the wall. Christine gulped. That was one pissed sounding voice.

"I'm so sorry!" Christine scrambled to her feet, and hopped down the few stairs between them, avoiding the debris. "I tried to warn you. I didn't mean to drop my stuff, it just happened, and then you, you came up the stairs and-"

"Jeez, woman, shut it for a minute, will ya?" The man pushed a suitcase off his chest, and looked up at her with chocolate eyes. Christine paused a moment to fully appreciate the unshaven ruggedness of the man before being rightfully affronted. She opened her mouth to retort, but he beat her too it. "Now why in heaven did you decide to litter the stairs? Rooms oversubscribed and you had to camp out here?"

"Hang on a moment! I tried to warn you! I apologised! There's no need to act all snippy with me mister." Standing there in her new red Starfleet uniform dress, black boots, and her hands on her hips, Christine felt feminine empowerment as taught to her by her mother rushing through her veins. "I didn't plan on my box breaking. I'd rather it hadn't, to be honest!" Yes, he could have been hurt, and yes it probably was her fault for not taping up the boxes tighter, but there was no need for outright rudeness.

The man stood up, dusting off his cadet trousers. "Damnit, woman, don't get your panties in a twist." He held up a hand to stop Christine's renewed tirade. "Now, if we get your stuff together, can we just drop it? I've had a tough day."

Realising that this was probably the best option she had, not to mention the least disprupting, she nodded. "I'm sorry again. And, er, thanks. For helping that is." she added as he helped her gather her belongings back into the broken box. "I'm Christine." She offered quickly as she made sure the top-turned-bottom of the box was more secure than the previous bottom.

"McCoy." Was the brusque reply as large hands lifted the box into her arms. "Now scat, before some other mischief befalls you and some other poor souls ends up injured." Nodding once again in thanks, Christine hurried up the stairs. Rounding the a corner she could have sworn she heard McCoy muttering under his breath about how he knew space was dangerous, but hadn't expected to run into it before his feet left the goddamn ground. She chuckled, and hurried down the corridor.

Opening her room, she gladly deposited the last box on her desk and with a sigh collapsed onto her new bed. Lying still with eyes closed for a few minutes, it took her a while to relax enough to realise that she was still grimy and probably starting to smell. Jumping up she hurried into the bathroom, wondering as she got into the shower if she could count that strange meeting as her first acquaintance at the academy.


	2. Chapter 2: The time during surgery

**Title:** Snarking Is Good For The Soul

**Author:** Ravencalling

**Rating: **T (for swearing in two languages)

**Chapter Word Count: **1,278

**Fandom: **Star Trek 2009

**Characters/Pairings: **Christine Chapel, Leonard McCoy

**Summary:** Five Times McCoy snapped at Chapel, and one time she snapped at him.

**Disclaimer:** Star Trek does not belong to me, no matter what I wish. It's the lovely invention of Roddenberry, I'm just taking it out for a test drive, so to speak. I also apologise for any errors in my French. I am not a native speaker, nor even a very good one.

**The time in surgery**

Why on Earth would anyone schedule surgery for 7am? It was quite a preposterous time to be at work and focused on any normal day, let alone one when she'd had a surprise call on her comm at quarter to six this morning requesting her to be in surgery since the scheduled intern had call in sick with Rigellian flu. Not that she wasn't grateful and all for the opportunity to practise, she was glad the high-ups thought she was capable enough for this, it was just not what she needed right now.

Christine sighed and carefully placed the scalpel the surgery had just given her on the sterilised tray. This was clearly not going to be her day. She'd spent the previous evening having to console a girl who was in her Emergency Medical Procedures seminars, who she'd found crying quietly in a booth in her favourite coffee shop, and had felt too guilty to leave her. Having then lost most of her evening to the damp misery of a very recently dumped girl, she had almost given up on work and gone straight to bed. Unfortunately she had a test on Orion physiology today, and since it wasn't until this afternoon she stayed up most of the night revising.

She tried to stifle a yawn, grateful for the hygienic face masks that hid most of the strange expression. Why was it that yawns were still so damn hard to resist? Hundreds of years for medicine and still no one knew the answer. Maybe she could do a paper on it one day. Discover the infectious rates of yawning and how likely any particular individual was to catch it and –

The sound of a throat being pointedly cleared caused her head to jerk up. The surgeon was eyeing her with one thick dark eyebrow raised. He pointedly looked from her to the instrument tray and back. Hurriedly, Christine realised she'd been off in her own little word and had clearly missed some cue. Hand hovering over the instrument tray, she quickly took in the stage of the operation before hastily handing over the stent. Internally berating herself for losing concentration, she focused intently on the gloved hands of the surgeon. The nice, large, strong looking hands of the surgeon…

Christine blinked. Okay, she was losing her concentration again. Two hours of sleep really did put her off her game. Never again would she study that late, it was totally not worth it. She wasn't even sure she could remember the correct measurement of sedative safe to give a pregnant Orion female. Was it five or ten CC's?

Taking a deep breath she realised that surgeon was handing her back the used pliers, and had probably been waiting ten seconds or so. Christine sighed and carefully placed the scalpel the surgery had just given her on the sterilised tray. _Foutre_. Swapping the tool for the dermal regenerator, she thanked the God she wasn't sure existed that at least it was nearly over. Maybe she had enough time for a nap before a quick lunch and a recap of her notes before the test began.

Sure enough, the surgeon called the waiting nurses in to take the patient away to await consciousness, leaving her and the other medical staff in the room to leave and clean up. She let the others head to the sonic cleanser, being too tired and worn out to walk at the speed needed to beat them to it. She didn't mind waiting another few minutes to clean the blood off of her hands, she was training to be a nurse, she'd have plenty more unpleasant substances of her by the time she finished training.

Unfortunately she hadn't realised that this left her alone with the surgeon, who promptly rounded on her.

"And what do you call that in there?" He pulled down his mask, not caring that it didn't make it all the way, leaving it stuck around his chin. This was still far enough to reveal the face of one pissed off doctor. Not that McCoy wasn't usually foul tempered. Several shared classes had only reinforced the initial opinion of his temper from their first meeting, but now he looked even more hacked off than usual.

Christine felt her cheeks flame. "I, uh – "

She didn't get further than that. "You're lucky it was just a routine job. If that had been an emergency, we could have lost the patient. What were you thinking! Scrap that, I don't think you thought at all." He viciously ran a hand through his hair, his height making him loom dauntingly over her. "If you can't pay attention, then I suggest you stay away from operations until you can. Or maybe think about changing your focus from assisting surgery to palliative care." With that last harsh bit of advice, he stormed to the sonic cleaning room.

Christine stood there blinking her eyes rapidly, trying not to let the moisture welling up in her eyes fall into tears. She just knew that everyone else cleaning had heard her telling off. At least he could have taken her to one side to yell at her. Now she'd have to endure a combination of superior looks and sympathetic glances from those who'd also experienced McCoy's tongue lashings.

The worst thing was, she knew she deserved it. If she'd been in a surgery where a subordinate had behaved as laxly as she had, she would probably have been as annoyed as he was. She just hoped that she would have been more considerate of their feelings.

Oh who was she kidding? She could have kicked herself. She'd messed up a perfectly good opportunity to assist one of the better surgeons Star Fleet had. And now he'd probably tell the other doctors just how badly she had performed, and no one would ever request her again, no matter how well she did on her tests, and then she'd never get another chance to prove them wrong, and she'd be stuck doing triage, or analysing blood samples, or something else monotonous and boring.

Swallowing hard, she turned to the trash receptacle, as the other staff came out all clean, and pretended to be having trouble taking off her gloves, so that she wouldn't have to face them. When silence reigned, indicating that she was again alone, she let her forehead smack against the cool metallic surface of the receptacle, and felt like giving up. "There's no use berating yourself now, Christine, what's done is done." She muttered to herself, before standing upright and going to clean herself up.

As she approached the door, none other than McCoy walked out. Feeling her cheeks flame up again, Christine avoided his eyes, and waited for him to leave. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him looking at her, his expression decidedly less annoyed. Somehow Christine felt buoyed up by this. Maybe he wouldn't tell everyone that she was the worst assistant ever. Maybe he'd just chalk it up to an off day?

"I'm sorry!", he paused in opening the door, at her sudden outburst. "I know I should have concentrated more, but I've had a rough night, and I know that's no excuse, and I should have known not to go into surgery bone tired, but I just…" She trailed off, realising he was babbling. "I'm sorry." She repeated, and looked down at her shoes, sure her cheeks were flaming, shuffling towards the sonic showers.

Just as she was about to collapse in miserable exhaustion against the lockers, she heard his voice calling into the room.

"Next time, don't let me down, okay?"

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who favourite/added my story to their alerts. I am so sorry it took so long to update. A broken laptop for nearly four months was a hassle, and by the time it was fixed I'd just lost all flow. I am also looking for a Beta, since my spelling is appalling, especially when combined with my inability to type. Someone who will bully me into writing more would be especially welcome.

Special thanks to T'Key'la, NaomiBlue, Trekkie2, Super Ultra Sexy Spockfish (Brilliant name, by the way), Harm Marie, WinchesterSmile, GEURA, and Time and Fate. Sorry I didn't reply personally, I haven't actually worked out how to do that, being the techno-phobe I am.


End file.
